


You're My Sweetest Downfall

by turnthedarkness



Category: Glee
Genre: Baker!Blaine, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnthedarkness/pseuds/turnthedarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Come Give Me Your Sweetness; Blaine is a cupcake baker and Kurt is stranded in a New York downpour. The rest goes from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Sweetest Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> Because what else do you do in the middle of exams but write tooth-rotting Klaine fluff? Literally tooth-rotting in this case, as it comes with its very own cupcake recipe!
> 
> I have not yet tried it myself, but please feel free to do so and let me know what it's like! I used a number of different sources to come up with something of my own, so I hope that you can come away with a sense of adorable cuteness and a new recipe to try after reading this.

**_For the cake:_ **

_75g caster sugar_

_45g butter_

_1 large egg_

_Vanilla extract, to taste_

_120ml whole milk_

_120g flour_

_1 ½ tsps baking powder_

_A pinch of salt_

**_For the topping:_ **

_200g caster sugar_

_45g butter at room temperature_

_120g cream cheese_

_  
_ _100g graham crackers_

_75g butter_

_A selection of berries, optional, to decorate_

_Preheat the oven to 160°C/325°F_

 

_1._ _Combine the butter and sugar. Whisk until light and fluffy._

It’s doesn’t usually rain this hard in New York. The drops are heavy, beating out a rhythm on the pavement and people are running through the streets, their heads covered with umbrellas or hoods or newspapers where they can.

 

But Kurt has no such protection, and instead runs with his head low, clutching his briefcase to his side, down an alley to where the rain is tracing tear-tracks through the chalk on a blackboard outside what is presumably a café.

 

And a café must surely mean warmth and dryness and the chance of a hot cup of coffee.

 

Above the glass front, the sign is peeling a little, faded and vintage from wear, but doesn’t seem that old, and the words _Qu’ils Mangent De La Brioche_ are still just visible in their turbulent blue cursive through the rain.

 

As he ducks inside, a bell rings, somewhat distant.

 

“Good afternoon, Sir. What would you like today – oh, are you okay? You look so cold. Here, please, take off your coat, hang it up here, you don’t have to get anything right now, just go through that little alley down there and sit by the fire.”

 

“Your sign, it’s still out there, the chalk’s coming off - ”

 

“Oh – I’m so sorry, make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back – ”

 

But the waiter is already running outside, folding the blackboard down and trying to drag it back in to salvage the last words left, lifting it with his foot and kicking it with each step; it’s almost comical. Kurt would laugh if he hadn’t just been out there himself.

 

He hesitantly hangs his coat up on the stand before holding the door open for the waiter to bring the sign inside.

 

“No one’s going to notice it at this time anyway. Thank you,” he tells Kurt, running his fingers through his hair and freeing droplets of water and looking up to finally meet Kurt’s eyes through rain-scattered eyelashes

 

“I noticed it – it’s why I came in here. To get a little bit of shelter.”

 

“Of course, Sir. And may I get you anything to warm up? We’ve got our cupcakes, we can do coffee, tea, hot chocolate, anything you want.”

 

Kurt glances over to the glass counter and sees a patchwork of colours and shades, glistening with sweetness. His mouth drops into a hollow ‘o’ as he looks, walks over, his wet shoes ringing on the tiled floor.

 

The display is strange at first. For someone so used to the detail, for matching pairs and threes and themes running like ribbons through each showcase, this feels new and foreign. Little laminated labels across the glass show what each cake is, but they’re not grouped, and instead strewn like stars amongst each other. There’s some high with frosting, a shocking yellow jewelled with boiled sweets, and Kurt smiles when he notices it’s called _The Royal._ Others are flat-topped, covered in glace icing and with miniature works of art painted in food colouring. None of them are entirely perfect, though, but it adds to the charm of them, and they’re by far from careless.

 

“I’ll take a cheesecake cupcake and a grande non-fat mocha, thank you.”

 

“No problem, coming right up!”

 

The waiter sets up the coffee pot, clatters for a plate, takes the cake from beneath the hood and then goes to check beneath the marble work surface along the back wall before pulling a steaming tray from the oven.

 

“You make all your cakes here?”

 

“Yeah – we’re usually not too busy over here down this alley, so it gives me the time to make sure I can serve them fresh. It’s just how I like to do it,” he answers with a charming smile. Kurt swears he winks as well, but he’s turned his back and his attention to the coffee pot again as he pours Kurt’s drink into a tall mug and placing it on the counter next to the register.

 

“Here, take it, go through and warm up by the fire and you can pay when you’re ready.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure, Sir.”

 

Kurt bites his lip. He hides it by pretending to pick up the plate and mug with more care than it requires.

_2._ _Stir in the egg._

Something draws Kurt back. He doesn’t know if it’s the quaint, olde-England cottage style cozy décor that looks like something from a photo shoot – and that’s given him an idea - or the surprise and comfort of the lit fireplace against the winter and the rain, or the fact that it’s quite possibly the best cheesecake cupcake he’s ever had in his life. But it most definitely wasn’t the waiter-slash-barista-slash-possible-owner. Nope. Not his smile or his kindness or the sweetness of his words or the polite friendliness or -

 

Okay, Kurt concedes. It was everything. Including the honey-eyed baker.

 

He can sit there for hours, designs covering the table or a laptop with the next article in progress, and just get top ups on the coffee or order a new cake until he’s tasted every single one of the cupcakes on offer. But he always returns to his first, his favourite, the cheesecake and his usual table, set a little away from the fire and with a view just down the alley from the alcove to where he can see the counter and the worktop.

 

He’ll be sitting and writing an anecdote about his apprenticeship in Broadway costume design for an article, or tracing the tides of the hem on his latest dress when something else will catch his eye. And Kurt will look up, and the gravity of his eyes shifts to the owner – yes, he’s now decided this man is the owner, seeing as he’s the only one who ever seems to be here – and he can’t stop watching.

 

And Kurt can’t stop watching because there’s something fascinating about the way he works.

 

Something about his touch, the movements of his hands, as delicate as thread, the  time he takes over each decoration. The way he somehow keeps his hands steady as he swirls the piping bag and the way he presses decorations into the frosting; marshmallows, beautifully hand-crafted sugar shapes, glitter, boiled sweets like gemstones.

 

But for Kurt, it’s not his hands that draw him the most, but his face. He’s bright-eyed and concentrating, but you can tell that he  _cares._ It’s the very picture of that old labour-of-love cliché and each little nuance, the way his jaw clenches slightly, the soft creases on his cheeks and his forehead, and his favourite, the smile he gives as he finishes each one. That’s what’s hooks Kurt’s schoolboy gaze, reels it in and captures him.

 

The man behind the counter meets his eyes and smiles.

 

Kurt smiles back, takes a sip of his coffee, then quickly returns to his article or his drawing or whatever to stem the blush just starting to bloom in his cheeks.

_3._ _Whisk in the milk steadily, ensuring the mixture combines before adding more.  Sift in the flour, baking powder and salt and fold into the mixture carefully._

“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been in here for ages. We closed about half an hour ago. I didn’t want to disturb you - ”

 

Kurt looks up from his fresh design sheets and smiles, somewhat cracked.

 

“Bad day?” The owner asks – and Kurt realises that he’s been visiting this place for over a month now and doesn’t even know this guy’s name.

 

“You could say that. It’s not even been bad, just stressful. All the snow and everything, and I overslept and the roads were blocked so I was late to work, only to find that half my team couldn’t get in and we’ve got a show in three weeks and we have to finalise the designs and check them compared to the actual pieces and it was far too much for the few of us in to do and I messed up and had to start all over again and – I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

 

Kurt pauses, takes a breath.

 

“It’s okay.  Sometimes we all just need a little space to vent.”

 

“I’m being stupid, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, you’re not. We all have a bad day sometimes. You just need one little thing to tip you over the edge, but then you need just one little thing to pull you back, too.” The owner stops for a moment, reaches over, grasps Kurt’s hand. “Blaine Anderson, owner, head chef, sous-chef, cashier, waiter and general dogsbody here at _La Bri._ How about you?”

 

“Kurt Hummel, fashion designer and occasional freelance writer. Pleased to meet you, although I guess we’ve already met.”

 

“My pleasure, Kurt. How long have you been living in New York for?”

 

“About – well, about ten years now. I moved here for college and never looked back.”

 

“Really? Where did you go to college?”

 

“NYADA. I was going to major in performance, but I ended up being sucked into the world of costume design. Then I did an apprenticeship at a production company and ended up moving into fashion design and never looked back. And so we have the story of the last ten years of Kurt Hummel’s life.”

 

“Broadway dreams?”

 

“You could say so. It was my friend Rachel’s more than anything. And it’s not like my heart hasn’t been on Broadway; the company I worked at first was the one producing the _RENT_ revival. It was at my word that Mimi’s blue pants were replaced with gold ones for _Out Tonight_!”

 

Blaine’s staring for a moment, trying to take in the information.

 

“Wow – Kurt. And you say Rachel? As in Berry?”

 

“Yeah, we were best friends in High School. New York was something we promised to do together, and it worked out pretty well, don’t you think? But what about you, Blaine? I can call you Blaine?”

 

“Of course you can,” Blaine laughs and _even his laugh is sweet damn it_ , “I moved here when I went to college too. Less exciting than you, though. I went to NYU, took English, always thought I was going to get into teaching. But didn’t turn out that way. And I’m glad.”

 

“So am I. If you went into teaching, I’d never have been introduced to your cupcakes!”

 

If there was any perceived tension in the air between them, it’s gone now, and they don’t seem like strangers any more.

 

“I was going to offer you another, on the house, but I think I’ve had a better idea. Come with me.”owH

_4._ _Add the vanilla extract._

“Have you ever seen the film Ratatouille?”

 

“Of course I have. I watched it the day it came out with my dad, I remember.”

 

“Well, imagine I’m Remy, and you’re Linguini.”

 

“So, you’re a rat and I’m a garbage boy? Are we going to roleplay? Because I could be down for that - ”

 

“Nope, I’m a talented baker, and you’re my apprentice. Because you, Mr Kurt Hummel, are going to learn my secret recipe.”

 

Blaine rummages in the cupboards quickly, pulling out all their ingredients, flicking the oven to the right temperature and setting them along the counter. The sunset is bright, but somehow frost-shattered from the ageing snow on the ground, and Kurt feels like what’s coming is going to be like something out of a rom-com. And his heart flutters, beats against the wings of his ribs for a moment.

 

“Before we begin, you must be sworn to secrecy. This recipe is between us, and only us. Repeat after me: I, Kurt Hummel - ”

 

“I, Kurt Hummel - ”

 

“Do solemnly swear – ”

 

“Do solemnly swear - ”

 

“To never disclose this recipe to another person - ”

 

“To never disclose this recipe to another person - ”

 

“And to guard it safely - ”

 

“And to guard it safely - ”

 

“ And will defer to him on all issues related to the musical direction of the band.”

 

“And will defer to him on all – wait, are you quoting School of Rock at me?”

 

“Just checking,” and Blaine definitely winks at him this time, and they both start laughing again. “Okay, first, butter and sugar.”

 

Blaine guides Kurt through the stages of his craftsmanship, keeping up a continuous hum of conversation and Kurt’s finding it hard to concentrate fully on making the cakes, especially when he’s trying to fold in the flour and Blaine comes up behind him and slips his hands on top of Kurt’s through his arms, pressing close to his back, his head over Kurt’s shoulder.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, tightening his grip on Kurt’s hand and continuing to stir.

 

They distribute the mixture amongst the cases with the promise that anything they don’t eat will go to Blaine’s customers tomorrow before putting them to rest in the oven.

 

There’s nothing to do now; Blaine takes Kurt over to the seats at the front of the shop so they can look out of the front at the stars just beginning to blink their tired eyes through the dark. Their breath is visible on the glass.

 

“I take it you’re a bit of a performer, too. Considering your original choice of major?  Me too. It was what I always wanted to do. I wanted to help people, to inspire them. My parents wanted me to do law, I wanted to take music, so we talked, and compromised by saying I’d take English Literature and go into teaching. I was happy with that, and maybe I could keep up performing along with my studies. I was in my school’s a cappella group. It was great.”

 

“I was in show choir. Rachel and I, again. Not the best time of my life, but I’m proud of what we achieved in the end.”

 

“Not the best time?”

 

“You know that old high-school-social-jigsaw-hierarchy system? Those of us in glee club were at the very bottom.”

 

They pause for a moment, listening to their breaths on the same tempo in the silence. Kurt’s faintly aware that Blaine is watching him.

 

“I hesitate to ask, Kurt, but is there anyone special in your life right now?”

 

“I’m assuming you don’t mean family here, right?”

 

“No, no, I’m not.”

 

“Well, no. There’s no one.”

 

Kurt blinks, lost somewhere in the night sky.

 

“Would you like to out for dinner with me? I’ve just really enjoyed tonight and you don’t have to and – wait, I don’t even know if you’re gay or not, I’m so sorry and now I’m rambling too, I’m sorry.” The end of Blaine’s sentence is lost amongst breathless laughter.

 

Kurt reaches for his hand, links their fingers, places his other hand on Blaine’s back and rubs, just a little.

 

“I’d love to, Blaine.”

 

Blaine inhales the answer, letting it flow to his brain before properly comprehending.

 

“Thank you. Let’s talk about later. We’ve got frosting to make and cupcakes to rescue from the fiery pits of my oven!”

 

They mix up the frosting before going to crush the graham crackers. Blaine brings out two rolling pins.

 

“One for me, one for you. This is the best part for stress relief.”

 

“May I take the first go, chef?”

 

Kurt doesn’t wait for an answer before taking a hit, the sound steely against the worktop.

 

“That felt good.”

 

Kurt takes another hit, and quickly starts up a rhythm. And Blaine starts to clap along and adds a tune.

 

“ _Smashing up the crackers, making up the cupcakes, Kurt and Blaine together, we’re making your food for tomorrow - ”_

 

“Someone should film this.”

 

“Maybe if they did, we could keep this moment forever.” Blaine’s surprised at his own words, and doesn’t wait for their full impact to register before saying, “I think they’ve been suitably crushed enough now! Let’s melt the butter.”

 

When they’ve made the topping and the cakes have cooled, they take it in turns to pipe the frosting, Blaine guiding Kurt’s hands again from behind, holding on gently until he’s got the hang of it.

 

Blaine ices a _K onto_ one cake and passes it to Kurt. Kurt responds with a _B_ and a smile, and a kiss.

_5._ _Spoon the mixture into cupcake cases and bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes, or until a soft golden brown._

They’ve been out to that French place downtown and now they’re taking a cab back to Kurt’s apartment, because they’ve both reached the giggling stage of drunkenness and it’s less mortifying in the shade of a car than beneath the public streetlights.

 

Kurt leads Blaine up the stairs and through the door quickly, and Blaine has no time to be overwhelmed by the way everything seems to be shimmering slightly in the nightlife before he’s pressed back into the door, Kurt’s breath hot against his cheek and already he can feel the pricks start to rise pleasantly along his neck.

 

Blaine’s hand reaches up Kurt’s back, stops at his neck, catches Kurt’s bottom lip between his. They start off slowly, just moving together to learn each other, and neither of them really know when it deepens but soon Kurt’s knee is pressed between Blaine’s thighs and he’s kissing along Blaine’s rent neck and sucking just a little and Blaine’s breathing faster and shallower and then he’s gasping out, “Kurt – bedroom – please - ”

 

Kurt doesn’t hesitate, but picks Blaine up and carries him easily, kicking the door to his room open and laying Blaine down on the bed. Their eyes meet, their pupils wide with anticipation.

 

“Is this okay? What you want?”

 

“Yes, Kurt – if you want it too?”

 

“I do,” Kurt exhales, and then he’s straddling Blaine’s thighs on the bed and unbuttoning Blaine’s shirt and slowly, slowly exposing his chest to their air and to his gaze.

 

“Your turn,” Blaine smiles at Kurt, who’s staring, slightly awe-struck. Blaine leans up, fumbles a little with the buttons before kissing Kurt just over his heartbeat. “You’re beautiful. Every part of you, Kurt, it’s so beautiful.”

 

“You too, Blaine. We need – my drawer - ” Kurt doesn’t finish his sentence before leaning over to the bedside table, taking out a condom and an almost-empty bottle of lube. “There should be just enough. This okay?”

 

“Yeah – yes, Kurt, please - ”

 

And Blaine’s kissing Kurt again, this time frantic and desperate and Kurt only just manages to undo Blaine’s belt and zipper and breaks away for just enough time to allow Blaine to slide out of them while he undoes is own, and when he looks back down, he realises Blaine’s taken his underwear off as well, thrown it on the floor, leaving him completely exposed.

 

He wastes no time then, shuffling out of his own and grabbing the lube, before deciding against it.

 

“You’re so pretty, Blaine – I just want to touch - ”

 

Kurt guides his finger down along Blaine’s navel, watching as the muscles in his stomach contract with each movement as he draws closer to his cock, and Kurt can’t resist the urge to trace along the vein and Blaine fucking gasps when he does so, his hips arching up just slightly to get a little more contact.

 

But Kurt continues further downwards as Blaine’s legs spread apart for him, just _letting_ him move down there. With his other hand, he grabs the lube and puts just a little on his fingertip before rubbing slow, gentle circles across Blaine’s rim and he can see the way Blaine’s thighs twitch, hear the little gasps now falling continuously from Blaine’s lips and all he wants to do is to draw out more. He adds more lube and starts to just press the tip of his finger inside, seeking Blaine’s eyes for reassurance.

 

“More – _fuck_ , Kurt – please - ”

Kurt slicks up three fingers, adds a second, then a third, and Blaine’s now fisting his hands into the sheets as he works them, sometimes leaving a kiss on his thigh, a bite at his hip, a smile against his skin.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“Yeah - ”

 

Kurt slips his fingers out quickly, a whimper catching in Blaine’s throat as he watches Kurt roll the condom on, use the last of the remaining lube to get himself ready before he’s lining himself up with Blaine’s entrance and Blaine’s got his legs wrapped around his waist and he’s _so_ ready for this.

 

“Promise me one thing, before we do this. Keep your eyes open. I want to watch you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

And with Blaine’s promise, Kurt pushes in, dropping a kiss to his forehead and then to his lips, inviting Blaine to confide his secrets in him as he begins to rock his hips and Blaine responds with a moan into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt goes slowly, just letting Blaine get used to the feeling, to find the matching rhythm.

 

Looking into Kurt’s eyes, Blaine can’t remember feeling more cared for. He knows it’s stupid, but when they find themselves in another kiss, he feels warm and safe and glowing, the heat building inside him and he bites down on Kurt’s lip gently, not trying to fight it but willing the feeling to just overtake him.

 

Kurt reaches down between their bodies, strokes a little over the head of Blaine’s cock and Blaine’s toes curl, his head falling back into the pillows as Kurt wraps his hand around him, the weight oddly familiar and comforting in his palm as he drags his hand along the length, heat sparking.

 

“Fuck, Kurt, I think - ”

 

“Come for me, sweetheart. Look at me.”

 

Blaine thinks he sees stars when his orgasm rolls over him like the tide. Or maybe it’s just Kurt’s eyes.

 

Kurt’s pulling out when he’s finally fully aware again, tying off the condom and disposing of it in the waste basket next to the bed. He takes a tissue, wipes across Blaine’s stomach gently, throws it away too.

 

They fall asleep with their arms around each other.

 

*

 

When Kurt wakes up, Blaine is gone.

 

It takes him a moment to register this, as he rolls over and finds only the echoes of his warmth in the covers.

 

But he doesn’t even have the time to form a full thread of thought before there’s a voice from outside.

 

“If you’re thinking of getting out of that bed, you might want to reconsider the idea.”

 

Kurt can’t decide whether he wants to kiss Blaine (again!) or kick him where he’s probably already sore.

 

He settles for arranging the covers into nonchalance as the door opens and Blaine peers round before entering.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Morning, Bright-Eyes. Where did you go?”

 

“I just needed to pick up something. It’s okay. I’m back now.”

 

Blaine slips off his coat, revealing to Kurt that he’s been outside only in his undershirt and something about that image is oddly arousing to him and –

 

“Can we talk? About last night? I – I had a really great time with you, Kurt.”

 

“Then what is there to talk about?”

 

“Us. Whether we want to do this again.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Like I said, I had an incredible night with you. I’d love for us to do it again, but only if you’d like to as well. What do you think?”

 

“I think - ” and Kurt’s leaning in towards him and kissing him, just lightly, enough to make Blaine’s heart flutter – “I’d like you to be my boyfriend.”

 

Blaine suddenly feels dizzy and breathless, and he doesn’t know why because he’s asked guys out before, and he’s been asked out before. He hides it behind a smile before saying, “good, because I hoped we might be in need of a little more of this.”

 

And Blaine _, fucking Blaine_ , pulls a new bottle of lube out of his pocket. And winks.

 

“I don’t think it’s fair, you with all those clothes on. I think we might just have to take some of those off.”

 

“Already on it,” Blaine tells him, a condom from the drawer in his teeth while he removes his trousers and it’s Kurt’s turn to catch his breath because Blaine has just gone outside to buy lube wearing a coat, an undershirt and _no underwear._

He places the silver wrapper next to the new bottle beside them and leans in, taking hold of the duvet still covering everything except Kurt’s face and arms and slowly pulling it away.

 

“You look better in the daylight. At least, it means I can see you – properly. I like it.”

 

Blaine slides down along Kurt’s body, places a hand on his knee, rubs it a little with his thumb before kissing it, then moving upwards, wet and open-mouthed, tongue finding new routes through the meadow of Kurt’s body, biting down into the crease of Kurt’s thigh and climbing the ladder of his ribs and breathing hot against his cheek, adoring every inch of his body until Kurt is shifting into the touches whether he’s aware of it or not.

 

His lips don’t linger on Kurt’s, no matter how sweetly Kurt tries to recapture them, but edge downwards, over his pulse and the tension in his stomach and to the head of Kurt’s cock, just damp with a little pre-come which gathers on Blaine’s lips.

 

“More, Blaine - ”

 

And Blaine is only too happy to oblige, his lips warm and wet around Kurt’s cock and he can feel Kurt’s whole body tighten as the feeling increases, then relax again as he pulls off, his tongue just flickering at the head. He sinks down again and Kurt can feel his hips now straining into Blaine’s mouth, and Blaine hums around him as he tries to take as much as he can, the vibrations causing heat to rise through Kurt’s spine.

 

He kisses around the base before moving lower, his breath slightly damp against Kurt and he dares himself to test just how sensitive his skin is. He drags the tip of his tongue as lightly as he can along the seam and the way Kurt gasps, the way his thighs twitch is so, so beautiful.

 

“Blaine – I want you – I need - ”

 

Kurt’s voice is low and Blaine’s unsure of how coherent his thoughts actually are as he grabs the lube and quickly coats his fingers, warming it for a few moments until Kurt’s asking for more again, and he complies.

 

He presses inside slowly, letting Kurt adjust before adding a second, but Kurt wants more and he’s pushing back onto Blaine now, trying to go impossibly deeper and Blaine wants to make sure Kurt’s ready, despite how many times Kurt tells him that all he wants is more.

 

Finally, _finally,_ Blaine withdraws the three fingers and reaches for the condom, but Kurt gets there first.

 

“Can I - ?” Kurt asks, motioning towards Blaine, and Blaine just nods as Kurt takes off the wrapper and reaches over, trying to roll it over Blaine as best he can. Blaine bites his lip, Kurt’s touches too gentle.

 

Again, they kiss as they slide together, Kurt’s legs tangled through Blaine’s as he rolls his hips, varying the speed, the depth, and Kurt responds beautifully, the two of them acting and reacting. It feels like sparks are waking inside them, between them, and Blaine can’t stop watching Kurt, wanting to know everything; the gentle arch, the angle of his clavicle, the way his eyes flutter, the way he tries to hold back the sounds fighting for escape.

 

Blaine touches Kurt’s hair, his cheek, his jaw, caressing the skin before leaning in to kiss him again, one hand tangling in Kurt’s hair and pulling slightly, and Kurt tries to cry out. Then Blaine takes hold of him, keeping him grounded, and with a few strokes Kurt’s coming, clenching down hot and tight onto Blaine who follows, his mouth pressing openly against Kurt’s neck in a partially-formed kiss which he salvages when his head clears, sucking just hard enough to distract Kurt as he pulls out before cleaning them both up just as Kurt did last night.

 

“Glad to know last night wasn’t a dream, then.” Kurt looks up at him and smiles.

 

 

_6._ _To make the frosting, whisk together the sugar and butter until light and fluffy again, before adding the cream cheese to the mixture and combining until smooth._

Blaine once had a dream of dating a Broadway star if he couldn’t be one. But now that he thinks about it, dating the best friend of one is better. There’s no pre-show nerves – he saves those for when he hides quietly backstage at Kurt’s fashion shows instead, ghosting in the shadows so as not to get in the way – and he can just sit back and enjoy before going backstage to congratulate everyone.

 

Tonight, Rachel is second-lead in a new Schwartz musical, _Eyes Wide,_ and Kurt and Blaine have third-row seats, and they’re stunned by the fabric of their harmonies, the weave of the voices and when the threads of the plot are all sewn up, Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand lightly. _I hope that happens to us. You. Me. Our happy ending. With a song if we can, too._

Backstage is buzzing, and Kurt jokes with Rachel while Blaine shakes hands with the other members of the cast, congratulating them on their opening night and thanking them.

 

“It’s lovely to see you, Rachel, but I need to now take Blaine away from you. We have – dinner reservations.”

 

“This late?”

 

“Yeah – sorry. Places to be. See you soon! Let’s go, Blaine.”

 

Kurt takes his hand and they leave, but instead of going round to the entrance, Blaine realises Kurt’s leading him onto the stage, gazing out into the empty auditorium and just imagining the same crowd from earlier.

 

“What’s this – Kurt, why are we?”

 

Kurt presses his finger over Blaine’s lips, mouthing hush before taking both of his hands.

 

“We could be anyone here, Blaine. Anyone we wanted. Georges and Albin - ”

 

“Collins and Angel?”

 

“Collins and Angel. And I’d totally rock that wig if I had the chance.”

 

Blaine laughs nervously, wondering where this is going.

 

“That’s the beauty of the stage. That’s why I wanted to perform in the first place. To be someone else. To be anyone else, when I didn’t know who I wanted to be myself. But now I know who I want to be, Blaine. I want to work in fashion. I want to keep designing, and writing, and go as far as I can with those. And I want to be,” Kurt pauses, takes a breath, traps Blaine’s gaze, “your husband.”

 

And then Kurt’s down on one knee, speaking calmly, with the control Blaine’s always known him to have, “Blaine Anderson, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

 

“Where’s the ring, though?”

 

“There is no ring,” and Kurt laughs when he sees Blaine’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know what kind to get for you, so I bought you this instead, and I thought we could choose our rings together if you’d like.” From his pocket, he pulls a long, thin white box, opening it to show a simple, elegant silver watch.

 

“What do you think? I can take it back if you don’t like it, of course but I hope you do like it because I wanted to make this right for you first time - ”

 

“Kurt, shh, you’re rambling again,” Blaine smiles, blinking down at him with eyes of gold.

  
“You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“It’s beautiful, Kurt. You’re beautiful. And I would be proud to be your husband.”

 

Blaine breaks their hands, leans over, brushes Kurt’s hair from his forehead and traces down his cheek with a fingertip, tilting his chin up so he’s at just the right angle to kiss him beneath the dying glow of the stage lights.

_7._ _Melt the butter. Crush the graham crackers before pouring the butter into them and stirring together._

The wedding is two months away and they’ve planned it for spring with a pastel theme. They’ve ordered lilies and orchids to decorate the venue and intend to adorn the pillars and the archways with them, then to have a veil of snowdrops hanging from an archway into the reception.

 

Kurt’s picked out white roses for their corsages and they still need to decide on whether they want a wedding cake, a display of Blaine’s cupcakes or a croquembouche. Blaine’s decided Kurt’s suit should be grey, and that his own should be a dark blue, but has allowed Kurt to design them.

 

They’re in the apartment and Kurt’s armed with his tape measure and his notepad and has Blaine standing in the centre of the open living space in a ludicrous starfish shape, arms and legs spread wide and sadly it’s not for any kind of fun reason. Kurt has the length stretched across the wingspan of Blaine’s arms before dropping it and noting down the measurements.

 

“Can I finally put my arms down now?”

 

“Yep. As long as I can get this round your chest next.”

 

Blaine sighs, letting himself relax a little, and Kurt wraps the tape around his body, pressing his hand over his heart for just a moment with a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. He moves the line down to Blaine’s waist and his hips before kneeling onto his heels, taking down the numbers before pushing himself higher, his eyes level with Blaine’s waistband.

 

“Expecting something?” Blaine teases, reaching his hand to fold through Kurt’s hair as if to pull him closer.

 

“Yes, I’m expecting _you,_ silly, to stand up properly so I can measure you.”

 

Blaine snaps his legs together, the thud loud on the floor and accompanied by a salute. “Atten’ _shun, Sir!”_

 

“ _Blaine.”_

He doesn’t answer, just widens his stance obligingly. But Kurt can’t resist having a little fun with him, moving his fingers in slow, lazy circles across Blaine’s inner thighs, just enough for Blaine’s mouth to fall open slightly, his hips to just rock forwards.

 

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers, his voice suddenly dry.

 

He takes Blaine’s inseam measurement very quickly.

 

“All done,” he announces, flipping the notepad shut in demonstration.

 

“Don’t I get to have my turn measuring you?”

 

“I know my measurements perfectly, thank you.”

 

Blaine can’t help but be disappointed that he doesn’t get his revenge.

 

“But that doesn’t mean this tape measure is completely useless for us. Hands behind your back, Blaine.”

 

And Blaine knows Kurt’s plan now, and he can’t say he minds as Kurt uses the strip to bind them together before leaning in again. Blaine swears he can feel the heat of Kurt’s breath through his trousers.

 

“Now I think we can see just how much teasing you can take.”

 

Kurt starts to mouth at the fabric between Blaine’s legs, warm and soft and Blaine can only moan as he watches. Tonight is going to be a long night. And Blaine doesn’t mind one bit.

 

_8._ _Pipe the frosting over the cupcakes, and finish them by adding a little topping of the crushed graham cracker mixture and the berries, if using._

_Wedding Cake:_

  * _Traditional_
  * _White to match theme_
  * _We could decorate it with flowers?_



  * _Too normal?_
  * _Chances of it going wrong if not made by someone practiced so Blaine couldn’t make it_



_Cupcakes:_

  * _First time we met_
  * _DELICIOUS_
  * _Blaine could make easily_
  * _Could give to guests to take home_



  * _Not really “special occasion” suited_
  * _Can you cut a cupcake?_



_Croquembouche:_

  * _Also delicious_
  * _Very different_



  * _Would be a nightmare to make!!!_
  * _Would be a ceremonial breaking rather than cutting_
  * _Is it as “us” as the cupcakes?_



Kurt screws the paper and the ideas, telling Blaine that he can decide what to make.

 

*

 

The snowdrops hang like frost from the arch over the doorway, and they’re breathing in more perfume than oxygen, or so it seems.

 

“Is it too much?”

 

“Kurt, it’s beautiful.”

 

Delicate shades of pink and green are scattered amongst the jigsaw of white, the tables circular, lit by candles which refract off the wine glasses and flicker like heartbeats and eyelashes and butterfly wings.

 

They’ve got a few moments before the rest of the guests arrive, and Blaine takes Kurt’s hand.

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

Kurt obliges, suddenly acutely aware of his own breathing as Blaine guides him, seemingly around the side of the room to the top table.

 

Blaine releases their contact and moves round to stand behind him, reaching around and slipping his hands on top of Kurt’s through his arms, pressing close to his back, his head over Kurt’s shoulder in a gesture that oddly familiar.

 

“You can open your eyes now.”

 

He feels Blaine nudge him gently in encouragement before he lets himself, blinking to adjust back to the light.

 

Blaine’s made cupcakes. A whole stand of cupcakes. And any worry Kurt had about them not being appropriate has vanished because Blaine’s used silver and white and pink and green cases to match the theme and added little silver balls to the topping and Kurt just wants to remember this before everyone else comes in and devours them.

 

“Blaine – I – it’s perfect. Thank you.”

 

“You did so much. And it reminded me of us. And this is our wedding, for us, right?”

 

“I love it.”

 

“You’ll love it even more if you look on top.”

 

Kurt stands on tiptoe to see.

 

There are two cupcakes on the top tier. One iced with a K, the other with a B.

 

*

 

They save them for last. For when they’ve said their goodbyes and everyone’s returned to their hotels or back home and it’s just the two of them in the chaos of half-deflated balloons and the now-heady spiralling scent of the flowers. When the band has left and they’re dancing together to the rhythm of their own heartbeats and there’s nothing but their own galaxy, their orbits shifting into one another for good.

 

Kurt goes to the stand, picks up both, and hands the B to Blaine, who unwraps it at one side. But instead of eating it, he holds it to Kurt’s mouth.

 

“Together?” Kurt asks, doing the same with the K and brushing it against Blaine’s lips.

 

“On three. One.”

 

“Two.”

 

“Three.”

 

_9._ _Bon apetit!_


End file.
